The Road to Recovery

The bus was nothing more than an old beat up school bus that was graffiti with mud and dust, you would have thought it would be a little nicer considering the amount of money families paid them to take their “troubled” kids off their hands. But I suppose us recovering addicts don’t deserve nice things. I climbed upon the bus feeling a sense of relief, leaving my parents and my perfect sisters. I knew my mother was behind me with her concerned smile waving to me waiting for me to turn back and give her a reassuring smile, but I wasn’t going to give her what she wanted, I’d rather let the guilt eat away at her. Mean? Maybe but it was what she deserved.

I sat down on one of the uncomfortable cold black leather seats in the far back of the bus, separating myself from the ten other “patients” that occupied it. Each one looked as if they hadn’t slept in days, with their wrinkled most likely unwashed clothes, blood shot eyes that were accompanied with large dark circles. There were three other girls on the bus, two of them looked as the others did it was easy to see that both of them were scared out of their minds, tapping their feet and twirling their hair almost in sync with each other.

The third one seemed to have a completely different attitude, she was well put together looking at her I could see how one might mistake her for Barbie. She was thin and blonde, make up caked her face yet not in the “dear lord look at her face” sort of way, it was done very tastefully. She was dressed in skinny jeans that fit perfectly that she paired with a tight fitted leather jacket. She seemed so at ease with the fact that we were on a bus headed towards hell, I mean rehab.

She must have felt my stares burning a hole in the back of her head, she swirled around in her seat whipping her blonde locks against the window and meeting my gaze. Her eyes were a cold, grayish blue color. Water graced the rim of it and that’s when it occurred to me she was less calm then she put on, she was just as scared as the rest of us. She must have got the feeling that I was breaking through her hard exterior and finally bowed out of our staring contest.

The bus stopped a few more times picking up more passengers, the cold leather seats that were once empty around me began to fill. The noise level began to increase but I blocked it out focusing my attention on the passing scenery that was just outside my window. It was a sunny day, the sky was blue, the trees were green, and as we passed through each town there were people living their lives. Families out in their yards, playing baseball, grilling or just sitting around talking. All of this was happening as I sat on smelly, grimy, old school bus with a one way ticket to “rehab”. It just didn’t seem fair.

A few more hours passed and in the distance I saw what appeared to look like a mansion. Not a nice mansion, more like an old worn down Victorian mansion. It somewhat resembled the Haunted Mansion in Disney World. The structure was constructed of brick and had white shutters, and like any haunted house vines grew around the outside. It didn’t look at all cozy or inviting. But I suppose rehab wasn’t supposed to be warm and cozy. This place definitely did not feel like home. As we inched closer I notice the fence, iron fence that surrounded the perimeter. It almost looked as if they could have been bars on a prison. If it was my parents hope to scare me into recovery this place was the perfect way to do it.

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